


Recoil

by frith_in_thorns



Category: White Collar
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, People making questionable decisions on FBI operations, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 18:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18784024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frith_in_thorns/pseuds/frith_in_thorns
Summary: Neal is undercover. Elizabeth wasn't supposed to be.





	Recoil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/gifts).



> Thank you Sholio for the excellent concrit that saved this fic!

Neal held the mirror up in front of his face, tilting it carefully back and forth. Not that he was still using it, precisely —

"Neal, could you please bring yourself to get a move on?"

 _Now_ Neal brought the mirror down, with a grin. “Keep your hair on. What’s the rush?”

Peter theatrically rolled his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, the fact that an FBI undercover operation is sitting here waiting for you to finish arranging your hair to your satisfaction?”

“On such small details do the best operations depend,” Neal said, airily. He surveyed the van in a last-minute check, although he already had everything he needed with him. He didn’t _actually_ want to hold them up.

“Get a move on, Caffrey,” Diana said, clearly not in a mood to ally in teasing Peter. Shame. He considered leaving her the mirror, but she probably wouldn’t be entertained. He slipped it into his suit pocket, next to the pen that would be transmitting audio back to the van.

“Remember,” Peter said, “We’ve pretty much got enough on Remmet already. I know we’re counting on him to land us the bigger fish, but we don’t actually _need_ any —”

“Heroics?” Neal suggested.

“— stupid stunts,” Peter finished, quellingly.

Neal pulled a face. “Right.” 

Peter sighed. “Just get going.”

Neal got. All the way to the front door of the brownstone, where he tapped a little pattern on the knocker and struck a jaunty pose for the security camera.

Archibald Sebastian Remmet (Archie to his friends, Baldy to the not-friends he was unwisely sinking his trust fund into trying to impress) answered the door. "Neal. You ok?"

"Good, you?" Neal stepped inside, preempting the invite. Archie never protested such behaviour, from Neal or any of his other friends. Well, 'friends'. Which was probably most of the reason he'd ended up in such a mess that the FBI were now involved.

Archie shut the door. Normally he'd launch straight into a list of minor grievances which had happened over the past couple of days — an expensive gadget he'd broken, service workers not performing miracles, an article in the New York Times he felt victimised by — but today he didn't. "Lance called me," he said, somewhat unhappily. "The plans changed again."

Neal sighed a little, not bothering to hide it. He felt that at this point even his persona could safely be fed up with Lance, the perpetrator of a frustratingly unimaginative but effective investment scam. Made even more frustrating by the fact that Archie and a couple more guys like him with far more money than brains had so easily fallen in with him and were now doing anything he said. 

Diana had, somewhat disgustedly, questioned what the point even was for them. _It's not like they don't already have enough money. And they still want to get more illegally?_ Neal, however, thought he understood, uncomfortable though that understanding was. Once you had far more money than you needed it all became… just a game, almost. Collect all the points. Beat everyone else. Completely removed from such necessities as food and shelter. Why _not_ accrue more, if you could? What was all the fuss about?

"What's the new plan, then?" Neal asked, mentally resigning himself to another wasted evening. Sadly he couldn't show how boring he found _Archie's_ company. 

"We're going out," Archie said. "Lance wants us to meet him at a fundraising event."

"Oh?" Neal asked, neutrally. "What's the event?"

Archie shrugged. "His charity thing. He's sending a car."

 _You are the most useless would-be criminal I've met in a long time._ Outwardly, Neal did no more than lift his eyebrows in ironic acceptance of this very Archie statement. "Magical mystery tour evening it is. I hope I wasn't supposed to have dressed up. I didn't even pluck my eyebrows." _See, Peter, I did need all that time in the mirror._

"I'm sure you're fine," Archie said, waving the concern off without taking even a single brain cell to consider it. He looked down anxiously at his own silk-weave shirt, patting it doubtfully.

"Change your tie," Neal advised him. To be mean; in the window he had just seen the promised car pull up. And there was nothing wrong with Archie's tie. But Archie was still swapping it out when the car started impatiently beeping its horn and he had to rush to finish, leaving him flustered and off-balance in contrast to Neal's perfect collectedness as they descended the steps.

Neal didn't so much as glance down the street at the van where Peter and Diana were no doubt stressing out over this unexpected location change. He was careful to keep just slightly ahead of Archie, and to enter the car first without checking that his so-called host was keeping up. It was all about dominance games, and Neal wasn't going to give Archie a hand up from his place at the bottom of the pecking order.

It was a quiet car ride. Archie had the sense to pull across the privacy screen between them and Lance's driver as they got in, but seemed to have nothing to say.

They pulled up across town in front of a venue banner. Neal raised an eyebrow at it. _Charity Gala Tonight — Supporting Child Health Overseas!_ "This is Lance's laundering scheme, then?" A classic for a reason. He wondered if there would be any less-vague fundraising statements inside. Probably not, though it would be amusing to find out, and he looked forward to deconstructing Lance's plans after he'd been arrested. Even more, though, he looked forward to being part of bringing Lance in. Neal detested him. He was a bully, an outwardly charming one, and was in Neal's experience the kind of man who would only escalate and damage more and more people until he was finally forced to stop.

"Yes…" Archie had been reading the banner too. He swallowed uncomfortably. "Neal, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Neal said.

"I just…" Archie trailed off. Leaned forward, tried again. "This isn't right, is it? Lance's ideas were fun at first, but now…" He looked in danger of dissolving into tears. "Maybe we should stop while we can. Before anyone notices."

It was what Peter had suggested earlier, wasn't it? That they had more than enough on Archie, and if he gave evidence then something might stick to Lance. Neal clenched his jaw. _Might_ , but probably wouldn't. Frankly, that seemed a poor reward for all their work. And Archie had not, Neal noted, suggested they stop _before anyone got hurt._ In all the conversations Neal had participated in or overheard, Archie had never once seemed to consider that he was doing any damage.

Neal had been like that once. The thought gave him a stab of uncomfortable guilt, which he instinctively pushed outwards. It turned into irritation at Archie, who in any case would no doubt get off lightly if he cooperated. 

He hardened his expression. "What, you're chicken? Can't wait to hear what Lance will say about that."

Archie's face crumpled into indecisive misery. Forgetting, too, that Neal had no connection to Lance other than through him. "No — I mean — that isn't what I meant."

"It's fine," Neal said. "If you're out we'll all understand." He reached for the door handle.

"No!" Archie insisted. "No, I'm in. I'm in."

Neal paused for a long moment, looking back at him doubtfully. "Well, ok. If you're sure."

"I'm sure," Archie said, more confidently this time.

Neal gave it another silent few seconds, then got out of the car in one swift motion, leaving Archie to scramble after him. He remembered suddenly about the audio transmitter, and hoped very much that Peter was currently driving and not listening. He was ashamed of how cruel he was being this evening.

But with Archie coming around the car there wasn't any time to repent. Neal drew him towards the wide-open doors and into the party.

It was quite a good party, on first impressions. Whoever was doing the work of running it (definitely not Lance) knew what they were doing. And the guests looked to be, not New York's best and brightest, but some of those who desperately wanted to be. Perfect marks.

Lance swept up to them shortly, trailed by a long-suffering waitress with a tray of drinks. "Baldy! You showed up, then."

"Hi," Archie said, trying to look as though he didn't mind the nickname. "How's it all going?"

"Oh, great," Lance said, carelessly. "Oh, and Neal's here too. How're you doing, man?"

Neal nodded coolly. He had no intention of letting Lance bully him as he did Archie — he could see for himself how little respect that engendered. "I'm doing good. Hoping for an opportunity to talk business later, actually."

Lance nodded. "I'm glad you're taking this venture seriously. Unlike some people." He waited, but — thankfully — Archie for once failed to rise to the bait.

"Let me introduce you to the staff," Lance carried on. "In case you need anything." He gestured imperiously at someone across the room. "I'm sure you'll have noticed my security, too."

Neal had indeed noticed the rent-a-cops lurking badly near doorways, and failed to be impressed. He accepted a drink from the girl with the tray, purely to get her to stop hovering. Then he looked back in time to see who Lance was trying to introduce to him.

It was Elizabeth Burke.

Neal jerked in shock, enough to spill some of the champagne from his full glass over his hand. He could have kicked himself a moment later — _she_ hadn't reacted beyond a bare flicker in her expression that was barely noticeable.

"You know each other?" Lance asked.

-

Elizabeth had not been having a great evening. There was nothing worse than clients who had no idea what throwing an event entailed, and yet felt entitled to micromanage her. While patronisingly telling her _call me Lance, no need to be so formal_ as he blatantly checked out her breasts.

Neal was a welcome surprise. Except for how shocked he looked to see her. She was grateful for her much-practised professional facade as her brain caught up. Undercover, obviously. The operation he had been moaning about over dinner the night before? The selfish rich boys? She dug quickly for a excuse he could use to hide his slip on seeing her. "Don't look so surprised. I've still got a life after breaking up with you."

Neal widened his eyes at her but recovered quickly. "Elizabeth," he said, coldly. "How's your new boyfriend?"

"Taller than you," El retorted, just as coldly. She didn't think she could risk a wink. She folded her hands behind her back — her wedding ring would have to come off. Successful operations were all about small details.

Lance laughed. "Neal, I didn't know your dating tastes ran to the help," he said, firmly solidifying El's opinion of him.

Neal shrugged awkwardly.

"I'm actually quite busy right now," El said, pretending to dismiss Neal from her attention. She was having vastly more fun than she had had all day. "Is there something you needed me for?"

"I was just going to introduce you to these gentlemen, in case they needed to act on my behalf," Lance said. "That will be ok, won't it?"

"Of course," Elizabeth said, with a warm smile for him and a look full of daggers for Neal. Even Neal's friend winced.

She made sure to sail away with maximum dignity. Guiltily, she thought of Peter, presumably eavesdropping from the FBI van. No doubt she would turn her phone on after the event was over to a long list of increasingly irate texts.

"Mrs Burke!" One of her waiters grabbed her. "Someone dropped a crate of martini glasses and they all smashed! We don't have enough for the drinks arrangement now!" 

She had a good soothing voice for such circumstances, even as she groaned internally. "Ok. Don't panic, I'm sure it will all be fine." With a last glance towards Neal, she went to deal with it.

-

"What did you _do_ , Neal?" Lance demanded, mockingly, after Elizabeth had escaped.

"Nothing!" Neal protested. Made a bit more vehement because his main thought was, _What if Peter tries to blame me for this?_ With an effort he dragged his thoughts back to the immediate situation, and half-grinned. "Well. There was this other girl. Younger. Richer…"

Lance snorted. "Man after my own heart," he said, slapping Neal on the shoulder. "Aside from wasting time with her in the first place, I guess. I wouldn't have bothered."

"Your loss," Neal said, deeply stung on El's behalf. "Bet you've never dated anyone half as intelligent."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it now?" Lance asked, and laughed again. "Well, men, better keep this party moving. You two mingle and talk up our charity venture. Get these idiots pledging."

"What are we supposed to say?" Archie asked.

Neal sighed deeply. He needed his patience for more important matters. "What, you can't work anything out for yourself?" Mean, but it got him back on side with Lance, which was where he needed to be.

He mingled obediently with the guests, spinning lies he didn't even need to concentrate on. He'd done the charity scam a few times himself, and there was nothing new here.

He tried to keep an eye on Elizabeth, without being overly obtrusive about it. Well, he had the jealous ex thing already going on, if anyone noticed, and he wasn't sure whether to thank her for that or not. He was more worried about what Peter was going to say, or was currently saying. He didn't like it himself that she had gotten mixed up in this operation, however inadvertently. He also didn't think it very likely that she would decide to do the sensible thing and just leave now.

An alarming thought occurred to him. His and Peter's shop-talk in the Burkes' house had mostly focused on Archie. He wasn't sure that he'd actually expressed his view on how _dangerous_ Lance could be. El would be thinking the stakes were much lower than they were. He had to warn her.

At that moment, a disturbance drew his feet before his brain had finished processing it. Raised voices, tucked just out of sight. He rounded an unnecessary pillar to find the waitress who had been hovering near him earlier, and Lance gripping her wrist hard enough to bruise.

"— don't know what you think you can get away with —" she was saying, angrily.

"What's going on?" Neal asked.

Lance spun to face him, dragging the unhappy waitress around with him. "I caught her taking photos. _Documenting._ "

"They were just for my instagram!" she protested.

"So just unlock your phone and let us see for ourselves," Lance said, in a tone which was probably meant to be reassuring but had no such effect.

"Let me have a look at it," Neal said, holding his hand out. Lance passed him the phone, and he flipped the fingerprint sensor up against the girl's hand before she quite knew what was going on. He opened it up quickly, scanning through the contents with a practised eye.

"Well?" Lance demanded. "Who's she working for?"

"Her name's Lucy," Neal said. He hesitated over what to reveal, but if Lance decided to verify for himself then it would be much better if he wasn't caught in a lie. "She's here on behalf of the IRS. Not an agent, I think — probably they recruited her because they knew she had access to this sort of event."

Lucy glowered at them both.

" _Bad_ decision, Lucy," Lance said. 

Neal held up a placating hand. "No, this could work in our favour — she can tell the IRS there's nothing here to worry about. For the right incentive."

Lance looked as if he was considering this. Neal held his breath.

Unfortunately, Lucy herself put paid to that idea. "You're both criminals," she shot at them. "I wouldn't do what you want me to for _any_ amount of money." Principled: Neal had to admire that, even as he wished whole-heartedly that she would just take the bribe. Especially as he now saw Elizabeth approaching to find out what had become of her missing waitress.

"We can't have her making a big fuss now," Neal said urgently to Lance. "Lock her in a broom closet or something until the party's over." Where she would be safe, and maybe they could get her an FBI commendation or something later for her trouble.

"You wouldn't!" Lucy snapped. She gestured to Elizabeth. "Her husband's an FBI agent. You won't get away with this."

Lance blinked at Elizabeth, still just out of earshot, in surprise. "An FBI _husband_? Really." He gave Neal a weighing look.

_Shit._

-

"Get your hands off my employee," El snapped, the moment she was close enough.

"She's been caught spying for the feds," Lance told her, bluntly. "I take my privacy very seriously."

El half-glanced at Neal for confirmation. His expression was tense. _Bad? Oh god, he thinks this is bad._ She took a sharp breath. "Then that was idiotic of her and I'll be firing her immediately." She didn't dare look at Lucy as she said this, knowing her ruse would crack. _I'll reassure her later._ "I'm sure she can delete any photos she's taken and be on her way."

"Not so fast," Lance said. "I hear you're connected to the FBI yourself."

Neal flicked his eyes towards Lucy, as sure a signal as any about where that information had come from. 

When she had made the split-second decision to join Neal undercover, it hadn't occurred to her that her staff might inadvertently undermine her. It should have, shouldn't it? _Stupid._ And far too late to back out. El gave a deep sigh. "My husband is an analyst at the FBI, yes. He's at a desk all day, in case you're picturing something dramatic."

"So the boyfriend you mentioned to Neal…"

She flicked her head defiantly. If she was stuck in the role, she had better play it to the end. "Neal's a prick. Surely you've noticed. I wasn't waiting around for all the jokes about how I _settled_."

Lance folded his arms. "Enough. Neal, help me bring them somewhere a little more private."

"I'm not going anywhere with _him_ ," El said, witheringly, and put herself a step closer to Lance.

Leaving Neal to manage Lucy instead. Peter would probably want to strangle her later, but Lucy was _her_ responsibility. 

Neal shot her a glance that told her he knew what she was doing. Probably didn't approve, but too bad. He took Lucy by her shoulders, firmly but not ungently. "Lead the way," he said to Lance.

-

Neal wished more than ever that he had taken the chance to seek El out in the party. Let her know exactly what she had gotten into, and brainstorm strategies. Not this nightmare where they had to keep reacting to each others' moves and hope they were playing the same game.

He knew exactly what she wanted him to do now, though, and dragged his feet until Lance, pushing El before him, was several yards ahead down the corridor. He brought his mouth close to Lucy's ear. "You've stepped into an FBI operation," he murmured. "I'm undercover. Nod if you understand me."

After a moment, she nodded.

"Do you know a direct way out of the building?"

Another nod.

"My colleagues Peter and Diana are nearby outside," Neal said. "When I tell you to, run and don't stop until you hit the FBI perimeter." Which hopefully was being constructed right now. "Get someone to take you to Peter or Diana. Neal Caffrey sent you. Understand?"

A final nod, and that was going to have to be good enough. Neal slipped Lucy's phone into her hand and gave her a strong push back the way they'd come, letting the reactive force of it carry him into the nearest wall and then halfway to the floor as if _she_ had pushed _him_. Lucy didn't waste the opportunity. She ran for it.

"You moron!" Lance snarled, dragging Elizabeth with him back towards Neal. "You let her get away!"

"Sorry!" Neal gasped as if winded. "She just —"

"Yes, I can see," Lance snapped. He was angry enough with Neal to let go of Elizabeth. She also sensibly broke for freedom.

It would all have worked out (maybe) if Archie hadn't appeared around the corner at that moment, blundering straight into Elizabeth's path. She slammed into him and that moment of confusion was enough for Lance to grab her again.

"What's going on?" asked Archie, doomed to be permanently hapless and confused.

"She's with the FBI," growled Lance.

"I don't think she is," Neal said.

"She tried to run, didn't she?"

Elizabeth, despite everything, rolled her eyes. "You think I'd have time to work for the FBI _and_ run an events company? How much time do you think I _have_?"

Archie looked genuinely baffled. "Just throwing parties isn't difficult, is it?"

If it wasn't for her arms being held, Neal thought El would have actually hit him.

Lance ignored the digression. "We'll find out what you know," he said, grimly.

He had finished messing around, Now he was angry, and out to make someone suffer. "Leave her alone," Neal said.

Lance sighed impatiently. "I know, Neal, she's hot, but she's not worth picking a fight over. You've already screwed up enough."

"Leave her alone," Neal repeated.

"Neal, don't," El said, quietly.

Lance slapped her hard across her face, one of his rings splitting the skin over her cheekbone. She gasped, less loud than the impact.

Neal pushed Lance sharply back, stepping in front of Elizabeth. "I'm the one you want," he said. He pulled the pen-transmitter out of his pocket and opened it up with a quick yank to show the wiring. "I'm the FBI plant. She's just a coincidence."

Archie made a shocked noise. "What?"

"The FBI are preparing to storm this place right now," Neal said. He hoped like hell he was speaking the truth. "I recommend you turn States' Evidence. We've got plenty on you both already."

"Shut up!" Lance roared, and went for him.

Neal blocked the first punch, at the cost of deadening his arm, and hit out with a counter-attack which was blocked in turn. Lance wasn't a trained fighter, but he had both the tenacity of someone with nothing to lose and also the natural advantage of being bigger. His second blow was a bruising punch that landed in Neal's stomach, underneath his ribs, that sent Neal staggering and temporarily unable to breathe.

Something cracked him over the head.

Neal hit the floor, his vision jarred into fragments, lungs screaming for air they didn't have. Archie — _shit_ — Archie had hit him with something heavy —

Lance stomped down on his arm, then kicked him in the ribs, over and over, the separate impacts melting into one ongoing agony.

Neal fought to rise, _get up_ , and —

— he blinked, painfully. Why was it dark?

"Neal?" Elizabeth's voice asked, somewhere in the darkness.

"El?" he asked, or tried to ask. It came out more of a groan.

Rustling beside him, and his hand was taken in hers. "Shh. Don't try to move."

Of course, that was then the first thing he did, and everything exploded into incoherent pain. He gasped and shuddered through it.

"See what I mean?" Elizabeth said, stern on the face of it although with a tremble not far behind.

"Mmm. Ow." He had been worked over before. He was probably going to survive, however unappealing that currently felt.

"We're locked up somewhere," El told him. "In a broom closet, I think. I had to move the stuff out of the way to give you room."

The irony did not escape him. "How long?"

"Not very long. I think. I don't really know."

He tried a more cautious movement, in aid of mapping out which body parts were still functional. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't prevent some sound from leaking out.

"Neal!" El mostly sounded exasperated this time.

"Sorry — sorry —" Probably some broken ribs. No, make that definitely. He didn't think his arm was too badly damaged, at least.

"That was stupid of you, stepping in front of me like that," El said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Neal said. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed it back. "You should be angry, though. My fault."

"What's your fault?"

"I could have called this off," Neal explained, thickly. "Archie got cold feet. Suggested we drop out. I pushed him not to."

"Archie was the one who hit you?" Elizabeth asked. "The one who hit you over the head with the ugly statuette, I mean."

"Yeah. That's him."

"I think he got his feelings on that out of his system," she said, a bit dryly. 

That was fair. Definitely fair. "Ow," Neal said anyway, out of habit.

El snorted. "Anyway, you shouldn't be apologising."

"But I should have —"

"Stop it. Stop feeling guilty."

The lock on the door turned. Neal stiffened, aware that he was in no shape to be of any use, squinting desperately as light flooded painfully in.

"Is this where you ended up?" Diana's voice. "Neal, Elizabeth, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," El said. A large bruise was spreading across her face. "Neal's hurt."

"Tell Peter I've found them!" Diana hollered over her shoulder, and crouched down next to them. She ran her eyes assessingly over first Elizabeth and then Neal. "Caffrey, what did you do to yourself now?"

Neal tried to sit up, which he really should have realised was a spectacularly bad idea. "Is Peter mad at me?" he asked, when he could speak. There was a band of hot fire wrapped around his ribs now, pulsing each time he breathed.

" _Oh_ yes," Diana said, ominously. Then she relented. "No, he's just been worried and freaking out."

Fast footsteps came up behind her, and she backed up a bit to give Peter room. "Are you both —" he began, and broke off as he saw them. He grabbed one of El's hands and clung to it. His other hand hovered above Neal, as if afraid to touch him. "I thought — God, don't do that to me again."

"Who are you talking to?" Neal asked.

"Both of you." He finally settled for resting his hand lightly on Neal's shoulder, although his fingers dug in. His grip on El was still that of a man saved from drowning.

"We're ok," Neal said. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing as deeply as he could, revelling in the sense of safety. "We're ok."

-

It was the next morning before Neal was allowed to leave the hospital. El stayed at home while Peter went to fetch him. The adrenaline and shock had long worn off, and she was shattered. Neal, when he arrived, looked awful and she was glad she hadn't even had to ask Peter to bring him home, rather than letting him go back to his apartment.

"I made up the guest bed," she said, after greeting him. "In case you just want to lie down."

He shook his head and sank stiffly onto the couch. Peter rattled a pill bottle at him and went to fetch a glass of water.

"Are you ok?" Neal asked her. "Your face —" He gestured.

She reflexively touched her fingertips to her swollen cheek. "Just a bit sore. How are your ribs?"

"A bit sore," he echoed, as if she didn't know perfectly well that three were broken.

Peter came back with water, and stood over Neal until he'd taken the pain med. Neal rolled his eyes. "Stop being so protective," he said.

"You've only had a few minutes of it," El said with a grin.

Peter shook his head in pretend-protest and perched on the couch arm next to Neal. "I've got grey hairs from last night."

"More," Neal said.

"Oh yes, mock me," Peter said, darkly.

"Thank you for the permission."

El didn't think they realised how they were leaning towards each other. She pulled the armchair close, wanting to join them. "Neal, how are you really?"

He shrugged, then groaned. "Ow. But really, I'll be fine. I've been used as a punching bag before."

"I don't think you should sound so casual about it," she said, doubtfully.

"No, he shouldn't," Peter agreed.

Neal laughed. "Ow," he said again.

They sat quietly for a few minutes. "I need an honest answer," El finally said. It had been gnawing at her since last night. "I shouldn't have jumped in like I did, should I?"

"It didn't a difference," Neal said, immediately.

"An _honest_ answer," El repeated.

Peter sighed deeply. "I don't know. I mean, I wish you had left the event. Or called me. You're not an agent; it's not your job to take risks."

(She had had twenty-four messages and texts from Peter when she had finally found and switched on her phone.)

"What about me?" Neal asked. "Since we're doing this conversation. Are you mad at me for not letting Archie back out of the party? You did tell me not to take risks."

"Oh, you listened?" Peter asked, in mock-surprise. He sighed again. "I can't be mad. I'm glad you were there with El."

Neal made a noise of relief. El realised he must have still been feeling guilty. She patted his knee gently.

"I was definitely mad at the time," Peter said. "Diana said she's not waiting in the van with me again, but she was joking. Hopefully."

Neal laughed. "Ow," he said, again. "I need to stop doing that."

"Get some rest," El said. "That's all I'm planning on doing today."

They started a three-way argument over a movie to put on. After a few minutes El looked over from holding up her end to realise that Neal had fallen asleep. "Peter," she said, quietly.

"Oh." 

"Don't bother with the TV," El whispered. "Just pass me my book."

By the time he came back she was curled into the chair, half-asleep herself. Wordlessly, Peter fetched a blanket and tucked it over her. Then he took up station on the other side of Neal, settling in with a work file.

None of them were going anywhere. Content, El fell asleep.


End file.
